Severed Wings
by Clinesterton Beademung
Summary: They say the walls are weakest in the wintertime. In the midst of the most terrible winter Glie has ever known, a Haibane suffers an unspeakably horrible injury. Who has done this, and why? The Haibane of Old Home will not rest until they find out.
1. The Coming of the Cold

Severed Wings

By "Clinesterton Beademung", with all of love.

Disclaimer: "Haibane Renmei" © its respective creators and owners. I do this for fun, not profit. So there.

Comments and criticism welcome.

Chapter One – The Coming of the Cold

---

The old farmer kept a tight grip on the steering wheel of his weather-beaten tractor. The south road was rough and rutted after the most recent autumn cloudburst, overused in the scramble to sell the last of the grain and produce at market and, because of the terrible cold, left unrepaired. The two-cycle engine thumped and burped along, hitching in protest—whether of the rapid change in season or of inevitable obsolescence, he didn't know. The sky above was indigo clear and speckled with early stars, but clouds gray and ominous as tombstones gathered in the east. The sun, a mere sliver of dull bronze, lingered between the clouds and the city walls.

The old farmer coughed into his glove. Something slimy and sour came up from his aching lungs, and the palm of his hand glistened in the fading sunlight. He wiped his soiled glove on the edge of his leather seat and left a snail's trail of frozen mucus. Winter in Glie caught everyone by surprise, but not even the Renmei Almanac had prepared him or anyone else for this descent into such bone-freezing temperatures as had never been known before in the protected city. He inhaled through his nose. His nostrils tingled. Snow tonight, maybe a blizzard, sure as God made little brown bell nuts. That young whippersnapper of a doctor had kept him waiting for an hour past his scheduled time, just to tell him what his body had known two months ago. He was too old for strenuous labor. He needed to get some rest. Sure. Someday.

The important thing now was to beat the snow home. Within the walls the air was calm, but the winds aloft were fast and fierce, shredding and reforming the snow-bearing clouds that already covered a quarter of the sky.

The old farmer came to the river, now a sheet of thick ice. In summertime he liked to linger here, inhale, and separate the scents of his tiny world from the strange and unknown smells the water carried from the world beyond.

The last splinter of sun vanished, lost beyond the implacable stone of the mysterious wall. The Hill of Winds lay ahead, but here the south road turned southeast, until he came to the river road, and stopped. A left turn would take him north again, until he found the cart path that wove through the farming district and led him home. A right turn would take him to the abandoned school, what the Haibane called Old Home. Beyond Old Home lay the Western Woods.

The old farmer shivered. The last light of day, the sound of his dyspeptic engine, even the very warmth of his blood, all seemed to drift away and disappear into the Wood's impenetrable shadows. Only the Haibane and the Toga who protected them dared to venture there, through the trees and beyond, to their sacred places.

How could the Haibane endure it? he wondered. How could they watch their friends go, and without a word like the legends say, and still smile and work so hard as if nothing had happened? Must be nice to be so happy and carefree.

The old farmer turned left, flicked on the tractor's headlamp, advanced the throttle as much as he dared. The engine whined in protest, and the tractor lurched forward. His neighbor, Widow Marsten, spoke well of the two Haibane girls who helped around her place. Patient, hardworking, and quiet, except to ask what needed to be done. His wife made a point of visiting the widow every other day, to bring over a pot of stew or a plate of cookies or to make sure the widow had clean bedding, but the girls did the greater share, and without complaint. The widow was slowing down herself, and would be joining Mr. Marsten soon. Perhaps this winter.

A burst of wind shook him and the tractor. Air cold as a frozen harrow blade swirled through a gap in his scarf and across his neck. This would be the last winter for some of the older folks. Nothing the Haibane or young know-it-all doctors could do about that.

The road turned southeast. He was on his way home. He released a sigh of relief that died when he turned his gaze heavenward. The clouds covered half the sky, and all he could hope for now was to reach home before the snow started to fall. In silence he urged his tractor to make it home. Come on, baby, you can make it…you can make it…

The engine sputtered once, then died.

Damn. He passed his hands over the tractor's controls, feeling for the choke knob. He'd bumped it, loosened it, let the mixture get too lean. Damn, and damn again. How many times had he meant to fix the knob now? Ten, twenty, a hundred?

The headlight cut a yellow oval out of the darkness. He moved the choke to full rich, applied the parking brake, shifted into first, and worked himself down from his seat, hoping he hadn't left the starter crank on his workbench. He limped to the rear of his vehicle, reached over the wooden rail and felt around the bed. On the crest of the next hill the living room lamp his mother had given him and his new bride fifty-nine years ago as a wedding present beckoned to him. Or did it? So hard to see so far anymore. His wife had tried to talk him out of driving, but there were errands to run, bills to pay, and even if he managed to wreck the beat-up old piece of junk, he'd crash at no faster than five miles per hour, the vehicle's top speed. He doubted he could inflict much damage on himself or anyone else. Still, it would not do to be stranded out here, or have to walk home on aged knees and feet through this evil frost.

"Stiff-necked old fool," he could hear his wife say, as she often did these days. "Why don't you see if you can get a sturdy Haibane boy or two to help you, before you cripple yourself?"

"Well, best beloved," he would say in reply, "why don't you find a couple of Haibane girls to help you around the house, like Widow Marsten? Couldn't you use an extra pair of hands or two?"

"Nonsense. I'm not the one who needs help, you are."

"That, honey pot, is what I'm trying to tell you." Around and around it went, five times before dinner, five times after, and once before bed. And she said _he_ was a stiff-necked old fool. Still, the old girl wasn't getting around as well as she had last year, and it pained him to see her struggle so. Maybe she was right. She always was.

The old farmer found the crank on the other side of the tractor bed. He fed the business end into the engine and leaned hard on the handle. Good thing the oil was still warm. Starting the damned thing this morning had almost cost him a pulled muscle. One turn, two, three…

The engine caught. He threw the crank back into the bed, climbed back into the seat, shifted into low gear, and released the brake. He opened the throttle, prayed the engine wouldn't seize up, and eased up on the clutch. He turned the wheel straight—and almost flipped himself over the front wheels when he stomped on the brake. Someone was in the middle of the road, and walking toward him.

A girl, wrapped in a thick jacket and wearing a plain blue dress. A halo floated over her head. Her feet were bare.

Of course. One of the Haibane, maybe one of the two girls who worked for the Widow Marsten, but it was late for anyone, Haibane or human, to be out on the road alone, ahead of an oncoming snowstorm. He shifted the tractor into neutral and pulled on the parking brake. He stepped to the ground.

"Evening, young miss," the old farmer said. The girl walked on, as if unaware of him, or of the noise and smell of the tractor motor. Her hair looked dirty and matted, and hung down in front of her face. Strange. He didn't think Widow Marsten would ask the girls to take on any task too strenuous or dangerous. Besides, Haibane were always so happy and cheerful—and there was something different about her, something he couldn't quite figure out…

"Young miss," he said, and stood in her way. "Where are your shoes?"

The girl stopped. "I lost them," she said in a weak and thready voice. "Lost them. Lost them."

"Well…don't you think you'd better let me give you a lift somewhere?"

"No, thank you."

"You sure? My wife has dinner waiting, and you sure look like you could use—"

"No. Thank you." The Haibane stepped forward. The old farmer leaned on his knees, tried to look past her filthy hair at her face, caught a frigid whiff of hay and manure—and something else, something that reminded him of Mr. Drommund, who lived near the wall and who raised and butchered pigs.

"Really now, miss, I can't let you walk all the way into town by yourself." He reached for her arm.

"Don't touch me!" Her strength surprised him and she wriggled out of his grasp. She lost her balance, and slipped into the shallow drainage ditch at the side of the road. Her foot broke through the scum of ice at the bottom. She whimpered in pain, stepped out of the ditch, and walked on, the slow trudge of a laborer bearing a crushing burden.

"Here now, girl," said the old farmer. "This is silly. The Toga would nail my hide to my own barn door if I left you like this. Now you come with me, or you'll catch your death of cold." He reached for her arm again.

"No, leave me…leave me…" The girl pulled her arm away, but stood where she was, and swayed. Her knees buckled. She fell backward. The old farmer reached to catch her. Pain from an old accident with a reluctant hay baler lanced through his back. He gritted his teeth and lowered her to his knee.

"Stop," the girl said, and struggled to get up. The old farmer held her fast until she relaxed against him.

"Look, I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to help you." Ice had formed around her wet foot. Her golden hair had fallen aside, revealing a face that, despite the smears of mud and the dark circles under her eyes, despite her pallid skin and blue lips, bore a beauty so angelic it stole his breath, even as her dreadful condition broke his heart.

"No. Let me go…must find…find…before they…before…" The Haibane's eyes lost focus and closed. The old farmer's arm went low around her shoulders—and felt what wasn't there that should be. How…how in the world…have to call the community watch, first thing…

Ignoring the pain in his back he picked up the girl, laid her face down in the back of the tractor. He spread a rat-eaten blanket and a fold of a canvas tarp over her body. He tried to climb back into his seat but could only lean against it, his heart thumping in time with the revived engine.

Snow fluttered through the headlight. The old farmer thrust a shaking hand into the beam. A snowflake touched the palm of his glove and dissolved in the warm, red moisture there.

---

Afterword

Yes, at long last, I have returned to fanfiction. It's good to be back, and I'm looking forward to hearing your comments and criticism. I know it's been a while, but I hope I can reestablish that all-important bond of trust with you, the readers, and I'm quite certain you're all the forgiving type, and that you won't hold my long absence against me. Right? Am I right?

*crickets chirping*

Well, um…anyway, I thought I would begin my comeback with the first chapter of a Haibane Renmei fic I've been thinking about for a while now. Those of you waiting for the next chapter of my Trigun fic, 'Children of the Pebble', you won't have to wait long. For real, this time. Really. Honest.

*ducks rotten tomato*

Uh…okay, to those who are still following my work, I offer my gratitude for (and my utter amazement at) your patience. To those who have given up, and have moved on to more worthy pursuits (or who are silently plotting my violent, painful death), I offer my hope that if you see this message you will reconsider, and rediscover the enjoyment you derived from my work, before the Dark Times…before the Empire…

Anyway, next time, in chapter two of 'Severed Wings': Rakka and the Haibane of Old Home receive an unexpected guest. See you then!


	2. Visitors

Severed Wings

By "Clinesterton Beademung", with all of love.

Disclaimer: "Haibane Renmei" © its respective creators and owners. I do this for fun, not profit. So there.

Comments and criticism welcome.

Chapter Two – Visitors

* * *

In Old Home, curled up in Kuu's feather bed and cocooned within three layers of wool blankets, Rakka opened her eyes. The window over her bed was a faint gray square that shed no usable light. No moon, no stars, all encloaked and invisible behind snow-bearing clouds. She held her hand in front of her face, felt her fingers move and tried to imagine that she could see them move, too. No luck.

Rakka drew her hand back under the covers, thrust it into the warm spot under her arm, and closed her eyes. Even for winter, it was too early. Her work at the temple didn't start until after noon. Reki had more than a little bit of nerve to get her up at this hour.

Rakka sat upright. Cold air shocked her face and shook sleep from her brain. She sighed. Reki was gone, her Day of Flight almost a year ago.

Rakka steeled herself for the trial to come. When she was ready she slid her feet over the edge of the bed and wiggled them into her slippers, took three steps to the door, grabbed her housecoat from its hook, slid her hands into the sleeves, threaded her wings through the back slits, and cinched the belt tight around her waist. The wing covers were more difficult, but guided by instinct (and an urgent desire not to see her wings frozen off) she put them on in two well-practiced motions.

In her living room Rakka paused at the window, careful to deflect her breath away from the glass with her hand. Descending snowflakes diffused light coming from the guest room, leaving most of the courtyard as feather gray and featureless as the sky. The cold of the last few nights had been terrible, and the sooner more of the stuff came down the better. Snow made an excellent blanket, and when it got deep on the roofs and against the walls their nights would be a little more comfortable. She worried most for the young Feathers, but they had two space heaters all to themselves and Kana made it her responsibility to see they were always lit and full of fuel.

Rakka listened, but heard only the silence unique to wintertime in the walled city. Reki's voice had been a dream, after all. The clock tower across the courtyard lay beyond the meager semicircle of illumination coming from the guest room, and could not be read. Well, it was certainly early, at any rate. Maybe she could sneak down to the kitchen for a cup of cocoa and find out who else was crazy enough to be awake at such an hour.

In the guest room Kana, wrapped head to toe in an old quilt, was sitting at the table. The quilt was speckled with droplets of water that used to be snowflakes. She'd moved the space heater behind her chair. Rakka couldn't blame her.

"Good morning, Kana," Rakka said. The clockmaster's apprentice peered up from under the blanket, and yawned.

"What's good about it?" Kana said. "Colder than a well digger's butt in my room. Hell of a night to be up and around."

In the kitchen Rakka found the cocoa it had cost her, Nemu and Hikari a page each from their voucher books to purchase. They didn't splurge often, but the housemother had given them a thorough scolding on the virtues of frugality, and Rakka was amused and a little frightened to think what sort of talking-to they'd have got from Reki, had she been there. Rakka drew a bottle of milk from the icebox, picked away the ice on the milk's surface with a butter knife, poured two cups' worth into a saucepan, put it on the stove and lit the burner. On the adjacent burner the teapot was steaming.

On her way out Rakka glanced at the battered alarm clock Kana's master had given her last summer. Four-fifteen.

At the table, Rakka sat across from Kana. "You sure I can't make you some cocoa?" she said. "That tea of yours will keep you up all night."

Kana shook her head. "I can't stand milk, I told you that. Especially warm milk."

"You should learn to like it, it's good for you. Besides, cocoa is sweet."

"No-o-o thanks. Just the smell of that crap cooking makes me want to puke."

"You're exaggerating again. And what would the housemother say if she heard you using such foul language?"

Kana smiled, though her eyes were bleary and a bit red. "Hey, when you work with a bunch of guys who swear at machines all day, it's hard not to." She leaned forward. "Wanna hear some really dirty words? I learned a few new ones during the last overhaul."

"Um, no thanks." Two months ago Kana had cut her hand in the Old Home clock tower. The three or four words Kana had added to her vocabulary by then had been more than enough to make her pain and anger plain to anyone within the sound of her profanity-laced shouting. Good thing the housemother had been running an errand in town, and the young Feathers had been down for a nap at the time. The kids looked up to Kana, but Rakka hated the thought of them picking up Kana's bad habits.

A low howl rose to a whistle. Kana gathered her blanket around her and shuffled into the kitchen. The whistle stopped, and Kana emerged holding on a saucer a cup of the strong black tea only Kana and the housemother liked. Kana returned to her seat at the table, drew the rising white vapor into her nose.

"Ahhh," she said, and took a sip. "Nothing better on a cold winter's night. Oh, by the way, I didn't think your milk was warming fast enough, so I turned the heat up as far as it would go."

"Kana!" Rakka shoved back her chair and stood. "You shouldn't do that, it'll burn." On her way to the kitchen Rakka wondered if having evil thoughts and feelings toward another Haibane, even if he or she happened to deserve them, would earn Rakka another sin-bound curse. She found the milk in the saucepan steaming, and the burner set where she had left it. At the table, under her blanket, Kana's shoulders were shaking.

Should've known better, Rakka thought. Maybe another ordeal of black-feathered shame would be worth one or two of Kana's favorite words aimed back at her.

Rakka poured milk into a coffee mug and for a moment considered drinking it plain to get back at Kana. She opened the box and stirred in two heaping scoops of cocoa. She rinsed the spoon under the trickle of water dribbling from the faucet, put the spoon in the sink and rejoined her tormentor at the table.

"That was mean, Kana," she said.

"Sorry," Kana said. "I couldn't resist."

"You should try harder next time." Hikari, wrapped in what appeared to be multiple layered housecoats, leaned on the door handle with one hand and rubbed her eyes with the other. Her face was cross, made even more so by her obvious sleeplessness and her missing eyeglasses. "For heaven's sake, Kana, you need to stop horsing around or you'll wake the twins."

"Yes, Mother Hikari," Kana said, and yawned.

"Good morning, Hikari," Rakka said. "There's warm milk on the stove if you want some cocoa."

"Thank you, Rakka," Hikari said, and padded to the kitchen. She returned with a chipped earthenware mug a customer at her bakery had given her. She sat beside Rakka. "So what are you two doing up so early? It's not even five yet."

"Checked on the kids, couldn't get back to sleep," Kana said.

"Well, that tea certainly isn't going to help," Hikari said. "What about you, Rakka? You're not exactly a morning person."

"Ain't that the truth," Kana said.

"Well, I…" Rakka drank some cocoa. "I guess I thought I heard a noise. And you?"

"Oh," Hikari said. "I…forgot to add an extra blanket to my bedding. The cold woke me up." Hikari tightened her grip on her mug.

"Yes, it's been a terrible winter so far, hasn't it?" Rakka said. "Have either of you seen anything like this?"

"I haven't," Kana said. But I haven't been here as long as old lady Nemu."

"Who's an old lady?"

Rakka turned in her chair. Nemu, clad in three layers of bedclothes, stood in the doorway. Nemu yawned as only Nemu could, with mouth wide open and jaw cracking on its bony hinges.

"You are," Kana said. "And if you're up this early, then I must be dreaming."

"Kana, be nice," Hikari said. "We're all tired and grouchy. No need to make it worse."

"I'm fine, Hikari," Nemu said, and sat beside Kana. She yawned again. "Maybe Kana's bad temper will keep me warm."

"So what _are_ you doing up, sleepyhead?" Kana said. "Did you dream you were awake and sleepwalk over here?"

Nemu smiled. "As strange as it sounds, you're not far from the truth. I was dreaming it was spring. I was standing at my window, looking down into the courtyard, and I saw Reki. I thought she was walking to the entrance, off on some errand or other I suppose, but she was just standing there. I waved to her. She didn't wave back, but she raised her arm, pointing at the south gate. Then I woke up." Nemu looked at each of them. "Next thing I remember, I'm standing at the window, wide awake."

Rakka took a long drink of cocoa. Hikari and Kana looked at each other.

"That's kind of scary," Hikari said. Her eyes were wide. Rakka felt her shudder through the table.

"Yeah, I was only kidding," Kana said, looking frightened herself. "You're not telling us a ghost story just to get back at me, are you?"

"No," Nemu said. "That's exactly what happened. What about the rest of you? Did you…?"

Rakka looked into her empty cup. "I did, a little," she said. "But not like you, Nemu. I just thought I heard her voice."

"I guess," Hikari said, "I guess I did, too." She pulled her housecoats close around her. "Now I'm really scared."

"Come on, you guys, don't be silly," Kana said. "It's just a coincidence."

Hikari's brow wrinkled. "Oh? I'll bet you dreamt of Reki, too, and are too proud to admit it."

"No, I'm not," Kana said. Hikari scowled, crossed her arms. "That is, I mean, even if I did dream about Reki a _little_, it doesn't mean anything. Does it, Rakka?"

_Rakka…Rakka…_

Rakka got up from the table. And just as with Nemu, as if lost in a half-dream, she was a little surprised to find herself standing at the balcony doors.

"Rakka, what is it?" Hikari said. "What are you looking at?"

Rakka opened the doors, shoving aside the deepening snow on the balcony. Warm and cold air fought for dominance in the guest room and, judging by her friends' cries of dismay, the warm air was losing. She left the battle behind, and walked to the railing. She swept cold white powder aside and rested her hands on the frozen stone. It was true, then. Just as she'd heard—or only thought she'd heard, according to the old Communicator—just as she'd heard Kuu's carefree laughter while cleaning her friend's true-name tag, Rakka had hoped to hear something from Reki while cleaning hers, but for the balance of the previous year, Reki had remained silent…until this morning. No, it meant something, all right. Reki's voice had been as unmistakable as Kana's dreadful spoon-and-saucepan alarm.

Swift footsteps came close behind.

"Rakka, what on earth are you doing?" Kana said. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Come back inside, before we all catch cold," Nemu said.

"Wait, you two," Hikari said. She put a hand on Rakka's shoulder. "Rakka, tell us. What is it?"

Rakka nodded her head at the south arch. Lamp light filled the entryway.

"We have company," she said, echoing Reki's words.

* * *

Afterword

Sorry, short chapter this time, but more are on the way! See you next chapter, when the Haibane of Old Home struggle to heal a Haibane wounded in body…and in spirit.


End file.
